Axis and Allies
by RocknVaughn
Summary: Sydney POV. She knows she shouldn't, but she can't stop herself...


Axis and Allies

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: Nope. Don't own 'em. But, God, don't I wish I did!

Author's note: This just erupted in my head last night after reading a couple of fanfics. I just _had _to write this down. I don't usually write one parters... (I usually write huge tomes…)

Anyway, I hope you all like it. (I'd love some feedback to have someone tell me if I do all right with these one-parter things or if I should go back to writing my tomes... lol) Thanks for reading!

PS~ In light of some of the posts, maybe I should issue a tissue warning for the SV angst? (And gee, I thought it was just me... I was crying as I wrote it!)

Seriously though, if angst gets to you, you may need tissues... 

~ ~ ~

You sit and listen to the rain drum on the roof of your borrowed government sedan. The curtain of sound still does not drown out your troubled thoughts. 

You swore to yourself you wouldn't do this. Every minute of every day that has gone by since your return, you've told yourself that; drummed it into your head until its steady pounding echoed like the rain now does.

He's not yours anymore…logically, you know it's true. Just by her presence, having to work side by side with her day in and day out, the human incarnation of Lindsay's parting shot never lets you forget. It's not her fault; you know that, too. But sometimes the pain and the memories refuse to stay packaged in their neat little mental boxes, and you _feel_. In those moments, reason leaves you and you wallow in the maelstrom of your own passions.

It was a moment of weakness—a moment of uncompartmentalized emotion—that made you do it: hack into the CIA's personnel files to find his address. And now, here you are, sitting here across the street from his house, two doors down, staring wistfully at what your future should have been.

He was your rock, the rudder that helped you sail through troubled waters. He was the axis on which your world spun, and now, without him, your world spins out of control, and you don't know if it will ever be right again.

You're drowning…and you know it. Something has to give. You can't go on the way you are; the not-knowingness is killing you in slivers, slicing into your very soul. And as much as you know there is no way you should get out of this car, you also know there is no turning back.

Before the rational part of your mind can object, you wrench open the door handle and step out into the downpour, not caring that it instantly soaks you, because it hides the tears you've been longing to cry and have feared to let loose, in case they never stop falling.

You cross the street, stepping squarely into the puddle at the curb, feeling your toes squish inside your sneakers. It doesn't matter (does anything matter anymore?). You walk and you tremble; you shake and you gasp, and none of it is from the cold. 

And there you are, standing outside his front door. A light reflects from a front window, a shadow moves behind the shade. A shiver of fear, of sanity, soaks through you (What if she's home? What if she answers?), but now is not a time of thought; it is a moment of action. 

Stepping forward, you press your finger to the doorbell, hearing it echo inside his sanctuary, inside the life he made without you. You step back off the stairs, back into the rain. You need its cover, its protection, in order to do what you need to.

The door opens and he appears behind the screen, his green eyes shocked at the sight of you, shivering and drenched. "S..Sydney… what are you doing here?"

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to lend yourself some strength. "I…I'm sorry to disturb you at home, Vaughn. I just…needed to see you."

His eyes turn unreadable, a reaction you're not used to getting from him, and it hurts. He sighs, a long, deep, troubled sigh. "Sydney…" he begins. You don't want to hear the rest.

"I'm not here to cause any trouble, I swear. I just needed to t…talk," you explain, trembling, cold from the inside out.

The familiarity of the moment echoes inside you, and you know he feels it, too. The invisible barrier he'd erected when he first saw you starts to slip, giving way to the history between you.

"Is..is she here?" you whisper, ashamed; ashamed that you asked…ashamed that you can't even bring yourself to say her name aloud. "I don't…"

"She's still at work," he replies, then says, "Will be for a while. Don't worry; you're safe…" answering the unspoken question you had yet to ask. 

You feel some of the tension leave your body with his words. It's not as if you are planning anything you shouldn't; you just wanted this moment to be about the two of you, undisturbed by anyone.

He opens the screen door, holds it ajar. "Why don't you come in? Get out of the rain?" he asks, accompanied by a gentle smile.

You look past him at the polished hardwood floor, the wall behind him papered in muted pink stripes, the floral watercolor scene hung over the umbrella stand, and shake your head vehemently. He had no way of knowing his polite offer would only add another dagger to your heart, another sucker punch to your gut. Your hoarse voice gives away your anguish as you gasp, "I…_can't_."

He studies your face for a long moment and you know he is reading you; he always could. "All right," he says finally, "Then I'll come out." He allows the screen door to close behind him as he stands on the top step, still under the cover of the porch roof, sheltering him from the deluge you stand in.

Physically, you are only a few feet apart, but it feels to you as though a chasm too wide to cross gapes between you. Tears mix with the rivulets of raindrops as they skim down your face. He stares into your eyes, hands stuffed in his jean pockets, waiting.

You break the eye contact, staring down at your sopping sneakers, thinking idly that they're ruined…just like the rest of you. Finally, it slips out, almost too low for anyone to hear, "I don't know how to do this…I don't know how to do this without you."

But even over the torrent, he heard every word. He waits; waits until you look up again, and then he spears you with that heart-stopping green gaze. "Yes, you do, Sydney. You're an incredibly strong woman; always have been, always will be. You'll find a way."

You swipe at your eyes, not realizing in that moment how futile the motion is. "It's like a nightmare I can't wake up from…everything's just _wrong_ now…" You sniff at the irony and add, "God, even _Marshall_ has moved on, has carved out a niche with someone, and I… I have nothing recognizable left in my life."

Vaughn shakes his head and takes a step closer to you. You watch as the rain splashes just past the edges of his shoes. His dulcet voice pulls your eyes back to his. "It might _feel_ that way right now, but you _know_ that's not true…"

You can't keep the accusation out of your voice. "How the hell would _you_ know what's true about me anymore!? My apartment no longer exists, all my belongings…destroyed. My dad was in prison, my boyfriend got married, Francie's dead, I'll never see Will again. All my friends are gone…except for my dad, I'm utterly and completely alone."

The intensity of his gaze darkens his brow as the worry lines blossom across his forehead. Oh, how you loved to rub them away as he slept! You wince, feeling yet another jab to your already broken heart. "Not _all_ your friends are gone, Sydney…" he says slowly, and you know he's not talking about Marshall or Weiss; he's talking about himself.

You shake your head, denying what you know he's saying…because you know he can't mean it. He has his life with _her_ now…why would he need you?

"Yes," he insists, and steps down onto the concrete walkway, down into the rain, to emphasize his point. "A lot might have changed while you were gone, Sydney, but not everything has…" He reaches inside his front pocket, extracting something that he now holds out for you to see. 

You recognize the item at once: it is his father's watch; the one that stopped the day that he met you. Sobs start to shake you; you can't hide them anymore.

Without a moment's hesitation, he steps forward again, closing the gap between you as he folds you into his arms, holding you close, silently, allowing you to assuage your grief onto his shoulder as he rubs small, soothing circles on your back.

When the tears finally subside, you realize how this must look, the two of you, soaked to the bone, embracing on his front lawn. You take a step backward, breaking the connection. Looking down in shame, you croak, "I'm sorry… I just…"

The touch of his finger on your chin stops you as he gently forces your eyes to meet his. "Don't be," he says, and you know in your heart that he means it. Then he reaches down and cups your hand in his, turning it palm-upward. He places his father's watch in your hand, curls your fingers around it, covering it with his other hand. 

"Why don't you hold on to this for a while?" he says, his hands still cradling yours. 

The gravity of the moment does not escape you: he's giving you his father's watch, his most prized possession. You want to say 'No, I can't…it means too much to you…' but instead you ask, "Why?"

"For those times when you're at your lowest…When you need to be reminded that not _everything_ changes…"

And that's when you notice…he's crying, too. 

But he says with a smile, "Sometimes the more things change, the more they stay the same. I'm _still_ your ally, Sydney. I always will be. _Never_ forget that."

As a bolt of lightning illuminates his glorious, windswept face, a weight is lifted from your shoulders and you smile; your first real smile…and you've shared it with him. And then, suddenly, you laugh.

"What?" he grins, dropping his hands from yours at last.

"Nothing…" you gasp between giggles. "Look at you; you're soaked!"

"So are you," he replies, the smile lighting his eyes as he slicks his wet hair back from his forehead.

You look down and realize you're one step away from winning the local Miss Drowned Rat competition and laugh even more. "Yeah, I am, aren't I? Don't you like my new 'wet look'?"

He chuckles. "I like you in _any_ look," he banters playfully.

You know instinctively what he does and doesn't mean by his comment. You know he loves her. Vaughn loves his wife; he'd never settle for less. But suddenly, you realize that's okay. It's okay because now you know you still have the part of him you need the most.

You squeeze your hand tighter around his gift, feeling the metal band of the watch cut into your palm. Sobering, you tell him earnestly, "Thank you, Vaughn."

He reaches out his left hand, tenderly pushing a wet tendril of your hair back around the curve of your ear before stuffing both hands in his pockets again. "You're welcome."

You stare at each other for a long moment, communicating so much to each other in the silence. Finally, you say awkwardly, "I…guess I should go." 

He nods, but doesn't answer.

You turn and walk down the path and out to the street. Instinctively you know that, even though he could easily have turned and climbed beneath the shelter of the porch or went inside the house, he didn't. A glimpse back in his direction as you open your car door confirms your suspicion. Instead, he stands out in the rain and watches over you, once and again your guardian angel. 

He lifts a hand in farewell and you do the same, before getting in your car and driving away, your burden much lighter than it had been moments before. A ghost of his voice echoes in your head, _"Sometimes, the more things change, the more they stay the same…"_

And in that blazing moment of epiphany, you know he's right: You _are_ strong; you _will_ make it through this. In his own way, you know he'll still be there for you. Unchanged by the weather of time, he's still is and always will be…your rock, your rudder, your axis, and your ally. 

~ ~ ~


End file.
